


If Only for One Night

by Lauriarty



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Teenlock, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:06:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1527380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauriarty/pseuds/Lauriarty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes has gone to exactly 12 different schools in a few months, partly due to his family’s jobs and partly because all have ended in him becoming the most loathed person in the school. He doesn’t expect a school in London to be any different (he’s only spending a week there after all). Fortunately, Sherlock is able to get into no trouble the first day. Unfortunately, trouble finds him anyway in the form of John Watson. Their friendship is destined to end in tragedy, but that doesn’t stop he and John from trying to make the best of the short amount of time they have together. Even if every loving moment comes with the price of pain in the end. Teen!Lock AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If Only for One Night

Sherlock looked out the window and sighed.

It wasn’t any different from the others. He took that fact as a sign. There were different buildings spread about, all called a different letter, all most likely containing the different subjects he had no interest in. The knowledge that he was going to have to stay there for hours was enough to make him feel overwhelmed.

He groaned in frustration, burying his face in his arms, not wishing to see the school anymore.

“Don’t look so very appalled, little brother,” Mycroft said with a smirk, rolling his own window down as the car turned and gave him the view of the new school.

“Is that even possible?” Sherlock twisted his own hair unconsciously, hands clenched into fists.

“If you stop complaining about every little area of it. Oh, look. Purple and gray: two colors you favor.”

“It looks boring. They all look boring, and then they all are. What’s the point of even attempting anymore?”

“The point is your education. At sixteen, you are here to learn as much as possible… not waste your time moping around and provoking others stronger than yourself in order to get beaten to a pulp.”

Sherlock scowled, turning away to hide his black eye and cut lip from his older brother. “It’s not my fault some people cheat on their partners and make it so bloody obvious.”

“I have said it before, and I shall say it again. Learn to control yourself and your urges. I didn’t help you with the powers of deduction simply so you can go out and tell everyone about people’s private issues and secrets.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Try, try again. We are here for one week, remember? Perhaps you can miraculously stop yourself from getting into trouble just this once.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Inside, however, he was thankful that it was only one week. Then again that meant they’d just go to another school and start all over anyway.

“One week,” Sherlock repeated. “Well, that just proves my point even more. Absolutely no reason to try this time.”

Eventually Mycroft decided to give up the effort of persuading his brother and Sherlock spent the rest of the precious few moments he had to simply close his eyes. When he opened them seemingly a few seconds later, the car had stopped and Mycroft was watching him with raised eyebrows.

It was not fair, how quickly time passed. 

“Well? Being late is not the best way to start one’s first day.”

Sherlock pushed the car door open with greater force than necessary and got out, backpack reluctantly slung over one shoulder. 

“Oh, and Sherlock?”

He didn’t bother turning around but stopped all the same.

“Do tuck in your shirt. It’s not proper for the uniform.”

Sherlock slammed the door.

…

“Please give a warm welcome to our new student, Sherlock Holmes.”

He snapped out of his thoughts, blinking a little as he realized most of the class had turned to stare at him. He sighed and looked back down at his book, trying to block out the urge to tell the entire class what the English teacher was up to with the Chemistry one.

“Sherlock, where are you from?”

He bit his lip in order to remain in control, patiently looking up.

“Here.”

“Here?”

“I was born in London. My family moves around quite often. It’s…" _Pretty obvious,_ he was going to say before hearing Mycroft’s voice in his head. “ …a bit difficult.”

“It must be. You’re here for a week, is that correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.” _Please stop feeding my information to these idiots._

“Well, I hope we’re able to help you feel at home anyway, Sherlock.” The teacher gave a polite smile and turned back to the board. “Shakespeare wrote a number of sonnets…”

Sherlock zoned out again, passing the time by deducing things about every classmate. Almost all were on their phones, some texting and some scrolling through their social media feeds. Two were reading books and eight were studying for the exam they all had next period. One was nervous about his next rugby match. He was the captain of the team, after all. The boy had sandy blond hair, and he was twisting his pencil through his fingers while constantly licking his lips. It seemed to be a habit formed by being under pressure so often. He was short in height and average in stature… he couldn’t quite tell just how much muscle the boy had because of the tan jumper he wore. Still, he didn’t look like the average rugby player. It must be the wits. Sherlock noticed just how blue his eyes were. Something in him stirred. It was probably the fact that he was staring directly at him.

Sherlock blinked and cleared his throat, looking away. He felt heat rise to his face and pretended to be immensely interested in the book on his desk. After a few seconds he looked back to the boy and noticed he was staring too… even smiling.

Sherlock instinctively looked at the empty seat behind him and back at the rugby player.

 _What?_ He mouthed, curious.

 _You!_ The blond pointed, laughing. Sherlock felt himself blush even more and he shifted in his seat under the boy’s gaze. The chair legs seemed to slip against the tiles and suddenly Sherlock was desperately clutching the edge of the desk, long limbs awkwardly tangled in the legs of the chair in an attempt to keep it upright.

“Sherlock, is everything fine back there?”

“Yes, ma’am, I uh… fell.”

The class chuckled and smirked as Sherlock struggled to sit properly again. Once he did he didn’t bother looking at the boy anymore. He didn’t trust himself to react properly to a simple glance.  
It seemed to take forever for the class bell to finally ring. He immediately sat up and stuffed everything in his backpack. He simply needed to leave.

In his haste he failed to notice the boy standing by his desk. He yelped in surprise, nearly bumping into him when he looked up.

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down. “I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s okay,” the boy replied with a friendly grin. Then, he held out his hand. “My name’s John.”

“Hello, John,” Sherlock said as they shook hands. He looked over the boy in curiosity, wanting to know more. “Sherlock.”

“I just came over to see if you’re alright,” John said.

“Alright…? Oh, yes. Right. When I… fell. Yes. I’m fine. More than fine, actually.”

“That’s good.” John glanced behind him and, seeing the classroom empty, turned back to Sherlock. “Walk with me?”

Sherlock nodded and they walked out of the classroom together. For some reason Sherlock was feeling cautious as they walked down the hallway.

“You okay?” John asked, looking concerned.

“Fine. I just…” He sighed. “This isn’t a prank or anything, is it?”

“Wha – what do you mean?”

“No one’s going to jump out and throw me somewhere, right?”

“Of course not!” John looked horrified. “That would be terrible. What gave you that idea?”

“Nothing.”

“Was it something I did? I’m really sorry…”

“No, it’s fine. I suppose I’ve just grown used to such foul treatment.”

“Okay. Well, Sherlock, just so you know: I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Sherlock felt an odd glow of gratefulness at that. “Thank you. No one’s ever said that to me.”

“No problem.” John paused. “What class do you have next?”

“Chemistry, I believe. At least it’s not too boring.”

“You like chemistry?”

“Depends. It’s interesting. There are many things you must understand about it. Sometimes I don’t understand anything at all, and that’s when experiments are necessary. But when things truly connect and make sense, I really like it.”

John laughed. “Which ‘chemistry’ are we talking about?”

“Depends.” Sherlock smiled a little.

“So what else are you interested in, Sherlock Holmes?” 

He shrugged. “I play the violin when I’m thinking.”

“That’s nice. Violin. Wonderful instrument.”

“It is.” Sherlock glanced at the older boy and bit his lip, thinking.

“John.”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to… perhaps… talk some more later?”

He felt a soothing wave of relief when John grinned. 

“Yes. I’d like that.”

...

John was an inexplicably fantastic source of companionship. He would listen to Sherlock rant on about opinions and deductions and thoughts for hours on end, always reacting the way Sherlock wanted him to, and never leaving. John liked to talk about his family, rugby, and movies. Most of the time, however, he praised Sherlock for his genius. 

Who was this boy? Sherlock could never help but wonder the entire afternoon. He looked so average, but in reality, he was far from it. John Watson was strong, daring, understanding, disciplined, and not boring. He didn’t roll his eyes at him when he mentioned an observation and he didn’t ditch him for other friends the entire time. When Sherlock brought John into the house Mycroft had introduced himself with a knowing grin, and Sherlock couldn't help but feel oddly possessive. This was his friend. Mycroft was not allowed to have contact with his friend.

"Found a person rather quickly, haven't you?" Mycroft had said quietly as he closed the door.

"Piss off, Mycroft," Sherlock had replied, immediately taking John into the next room. Thankfully, Mycroft did not bother them after that. He hoped he wasn't watching and deducing. 

Of course, his paranoid thoughts eventually faded, for he was distracted by John. When they watched a movie and even studied for a short while, he found himself being fine with the activities that would usually bore him to death. Whenever John was there, everything was bearable. 

He had grown very attached to the boy very quickly, and it was frightening in a way. But the happiness he felt when being around him made up for that. 

“John,” he said, head resting on John’s lap once it was nearly midnight. He never craved for intimacy, but he felt impossibly comfortable with John, and his desire to be closer never seemed to be fulfilled. 

“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Why are you so perfect?”

John paused, smiling fondly down at the boy. “I would ask the same of you.”

“I’m not perfect. You are.”

“How are you not perfect?”

“Are you joking?” Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes. “I’m different. I observe things people are too dull or lazy to observe. Everyone calls me a freak. No one talks to me voluntarily. Except you. That makes you perfect… to me.”

All was silent for a moment and Sherlock opened his eyes, already fearing that he had said something wrong. He sat up and opened his mouth to apologize before John brought a hand to his face.

“Please don’t take back what you said. It means a lot to me. Really.” He seemed to be leaning closer, and Sherlock stopped breathing. John’s eyes were so much bluer up close. He could get lost staring into them, as cheesy as it sounded. He loved John’s short, sandy blond hair and the soft, cuddly jumpers he always tended to wear. Suddenly he realized that now, John was so much closer than ever before.

And then.

_And then._

The other boy pulled back. 

“What time is it?” 

“After midnight, most likely,” Sherlock muttered, moving to sit back on the couch. He turned away, hurt for a reason he couldn't describe.

“Okay.” There was a pause and Sherlock didn’t dare move, as much as he wanted to look at John and deduce and see exactly what he was thinking.

“Sherlock?”

“Mm?”

“Are you… okay?”

He shrugged and waited. 

After a few moments, he heard a deep inhale and exhale. 

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John.” 

He remained on the couch as the front door opened and closed.

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just a simple Teen!lock AU idea, mostly because I've grown tired of writing first chapters for AU's that are never finished. I may add to this story someday, but for now, enjoy this open ending (sorry).


End file.
